Poetry

Shine

the night literally calls methe beautiful shadow women in the bar neon glowthe tinkle of ice in glassesdifferent jewels in different boxestraps for my delicate fingersfeathery ghost hands reaching out I can no more stop my mind thinkingthen my lungs breathing the smoky, perfumed airso I bang this old guitar, reach deep into my temptationand let it mingle with the smoketurning grime to goldwith every word I singthere is a magestic power in this truthangels in hell, our halos dimmed by the blackpale but shining stillwe shine and hope that it is enoughto make dreams from despaircomfort from chaos